Touching From A Distance
by roserouge20
Summary: Eric and Sookie have never met before. But when they are kidnapped and thrown together, their will to survive creates an unbreakable bond between them, one that even change and death cannot alter. Why are they being held captive? And just who is responsible? E/S. Supernatural/violence/Lang/eventual lemons.
1. Captive

_**Touching From A Distance**_

I don't even know how long we've been stuck here.

In this room, shut-off from the outside world, it has become next to impossible to tell. The windows are covered with what seems like tinted plastic, blocking out any source of daylight. It feels like we've been in here for weeks, though. I'm lying on a stained, bare mattress, something that probably belongs in a refuge centre, and yet, it has quickly become my home for hours on end.

Our home, together.

He shifts on his side of the mattress and sits up slowly against the dank wall behind us. His teeth chatter loudly, and he folds his arms over his knees.

"Hey," I murmur quietly.

"Hey," he grunts back, turning to look at me. He smiles weakly, and I smile back.

They've been a lot rougher with him than they've been with me. Twice a day, they have people enter to give us breakfast and dinner. They beat on him unnecessarily. He keeps fighting, and never seems to tire of it, even though he has to know it is no use. I was very much the same, for the first few days: I fought with all my might. I kicked groins, shins, kneecaps. It didn't seem to help me much any. But he continuously fights regardless. He has one swollen bruised eye, and a cut above his forehead. His upper lip is split, and tends to bleed continuously. He pushes himself to his feet with a shoulder against the wall, and even though he puts on a brave face, each and every single time, I still catch him grimace, as he walks over to the small bathroom utility we have in here. It consists merely of a grimy sink, and a seat-less toilet.

They both work, though, so I guess I can't complain.

He undoes the buckle on the leather belt of his jeans, and I take it as my cue to turn and look in the opposite direction. I hear him peeing in the toilet bowl. Though we're two strangers, we've lived like this long enough for however long we've been stuck in this disgusting room, that we've learned to push self-conscious feelings aside to pee in front of one another. He flushes the toilet, and limps back over, flopping back on the mattress beside me tiredly. I try hard not to think of the constant hunger that resonates throughout my body. Two meals a day isn't enough. They never give us enough for two people, so we end up having to take turns. One of us always has to go without more than the other.

"How are you?" My question is careful and filled with dread. I know full damn well how he is, but sometimes it feels nice to ask. He is the only person I can talk to. I think we keep each other from going insane, because we've got each other, we're not entirely alone. We're not entirely alienated from the world, because we're together.

I know what he is going to say before he even says it.

"I'm fucking wonderful, Sookie. Never been better."

I almost laugh at the predictability of his words as they leave his mouth and the irony of it all. He's not fine, but he's putting on a brave face, trying to mask his pain with humour. That's him, and I've come to appreciate that about him. No matter how much hell we go through, he still manages to make this hell-hole seem less dismal.

I remember, as though it was yesterday, the first time he came here.

I was alone for a couple of days, weeks, months- who knows? - before they brought him in. I was huddled on the mattress, trying to sleep off my grief and the terror I felt over the unexplainable situation, when I was startled awake by the sound of the door creaking open. I was so scared by the noises coming from outside, that I was left shaking with fear. A moment later, I heard yelling, and the sound of a struggle. I had looked up to see the two unidentifiable masked men who had brought me in here dragging a man in, as he valiantly struggled against them.

"Fuck you!" He spat at them, trying to wring his arms free from their grasps. "Let me go, you motherfuckers!"

He tried to swing his legs at them as they dragged him in.

"We've got company for you, baby," one of the men taunted me, before they pushed him in, swooped out of the door, and re-locked it with harsh finality. He was immediately on his feet, banging and kicking at the door. Getting out was a sheer impossibility, I had learned, and I had tried it all myself. He banged at it anyway, pounding with his fists, and screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs hoarsely at our captors.

"There isn't any point in that," I murmured, using my voice for the first in what felt days. It came out raspy from misuse. "Believe me; I've tried it all, and there was no chance in hell of getting out. You'll just tire yourself out." He turned around to look at me, seemingly shocked he wasn't alone. He appraised me with fierce eyes emitting from a small dimly lit light bulb attached to the mouldy ceiling. And then, cursing once more for last effort, he crossed over towards me and plopped himself down on the mattress, panting and heaving away. We stared at each other like we were two old friends.

"I'm Eric. Eric Northman." The name didn't hold any familiarity to me at all. Even to this day, it still doesn't.

"I'm Sookie Stackhouse."

We shook hands. And then we both had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"I would say it is very nice to meet you, but in these circumstances, it really fucking isn't."

I had laughed weakly at that. "Oh, well. Right back at you."

And so, we pretty much become close friends. Well, as close as two people become when they're plunged in a sudden, unexpected and cruel situation as we were thrust into. We tried, countless times, to figure out who was behind this, and their reasons into why. For the life of us, we couldn't find any. After awhile, we gave up on speculating and just choose defeat and acceptance instead.

Without warning, the door flings open and I flinch back into the wall instinctively. Eric gets on his knees and huddles over me, protective and gentlemanly despite his horrible state. A metal tray of food is kicked in, and then the door is re-locked again. My mood brightens, because we always feel better when food has been delivered. Eric moves to stand and retrieve the tray, but I put my hand on his shoulder, telling him to not move. I don't want him hurting even more than he already is presently. I get up, collect our food, and crawl back on our mattress, setting the tray in between our legs. We sit, facing each other, and I split our crappy food in half. They always give us one piece of bread, a bottle of water, and an apple. We always try to share, no matter what.

I split the bread in half, and hand a half to him. The bread is stale, but like I said, What use is there in complaining? The people outside this place don't hear us anyway.

"Oh, what's on the menu today?" Eric says, while he pops a shred of bread into his mouth. "Here, we have delicious stale bread and an apple. Don't we have ourselves a feast worthy of a king and queen?"

"Oh, come on. It could be tons worse."

"True. At least they're not fucking starving us..."

"You know," I muse, while I chew," I wish we had met on better conditions. I have a feeling that... out there, we would have become really good buddies."

"What?" he asks, pummelling a hand into his chest in feigned offense, "So we're not buddies now? Sookie Stackhouse, you continue to wound me, and never fail to do so..."

"Well, of course we are now." I lick the crumbs off my fingers greedily. "But it's kind of forced, don't you think?" I smile over at him teasingly, and he smiles back.

"What better way to get to know someone, than being shut off into a shitty room together? You've seen me pee, and shit. We're practically a married couple already."

"You're literally the first guy who has ever done his business in front of me, and let me just say... it really isn't a nice sight," I admit, and he laughs. The sound is throaty and ragged. It makes me smile like crazy though. I am very pleased we can find humour in all the turmoil we're up against.

After a while, I can't sit still and am craving some activity. I pace around the small area, as I usually do, just for some bout of physical activity. Being confined in here like this, you find you ache and are stiff in places you never imagined you would be. I miss most humble pleasures. I miss the sun on my face. I miss the air breezing against my skin. But most of all, I miss my Grandmother and older brother, Jason. I try not to cry with longing. I've done my fair share of that, and I know full damn well now that crying doesn't get you anywhere. Not once, have I seen Eric cry. He never does. He gets angry and frustrated, sure. He swears like a sailor and hits things. But I've only been the one to cry about being in here, and he is always there to comfort me, as annoying as I imagine it is for him.

"Goddamn it. I wish I knew what the hell we are doing here."

"What difference would that make?" he questions. He starts chomping down on the apple loudly. "We've been through this time and time again. It's pointless." He's right. He always is.

"I wish we could somehow tear the plastic away from the window. I miss the sun so badly."

"Me, too," he says quietly, with an ounce of longing. "Come here. Sit with me."

Without question I go to his side, and he pulls me down onto the mattress. He offers me some of the half-eaten apple, but I decline. I'm hardly in the mood.

"You have to eat," he urges firmly. "Keep your strength up."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Maybe for when we get out of here. Which we will, I promise you."

"And what if we don't ever get out of here?" I ask him hopelessly. It is what I fear the most, being stuck in this place forever. But with him, it isn't hardly as bad as it could be. He tosses the apple down on the tray, kicks it away from us with his heel, and fans out his hands wide. I surrender into them, and let him enfold me tightly. I push my face into his shirt, and I can feel bones and warm skin. He kisses me on the forehead, and sighs deeply into my skin. He reaches over for his leather jacket, pushes it around my shoulders.

It's the little things you've got to be thankful for, in this shit-hole. And Eric Northman is definitely one of them.

* * *

Sometime during the night, they took him.

I wake up alone, and panic spirals as I search blindly for him on the mattress. I can't feel him anywhere. Then it happens. The door bursts open, and someone is being shoved back inside. I know it's him. It is the only thing I am absolutely positive of.

"Are you alright?" I ask nervously.

And he answers, exactly like I'm expecting him to. Always the same:

"I'm fucking wonderful, Sookie. Never been better." But a pained, hysterical chuckle gets caught in his throat. I crawl my way over towards him, and wrap my arm around him. He is shaking violently.

"What did they do to you?" I ask, even though I think I already know the answer to that. They always do it to him, and it is never with rhyme or reason.

He's really in terrible shape. He tries to hug me or stand up, do_ something_, but that won't do.

"They didn't get you too, did they?" he asks, too low, only for me to hear. He never worries about himself. Only me. Typical, really.

"They didn't. Tell me what they did to you now."

"It doesn't matter."

"I was so worried," I confess shakily. "I woke and you were gone. It scared me."

"Well, I'm here now. I'm back."

"Good. Try not to leave me ever again."

"I won't," he assures me. "I'll fight harder next time." Of course he says that. But I fear, that one day, he will take it too far and wind up dead. I fear that the most, always.

_**Does this seem like something you would be interested in more of? Review please, and let me know. :)**_


	2. Bitten

_**Touching From A Distance**_

I could tell Eric was anything but all right**_. _**I wrap my arm around his neck and try to lift him up, try to support him, but being a heavy and tall guy the way he was, it tired me out easily. Puffing and panting, I manage to get him back onto the mattress. I try to inspect his face closely, turning his cheeks this way and that way, trying to find any injuries. I'm no doctor, but since being stuck in here, I think I've learned how to treat him well enough from experience. He winces and groans loudly as I touch his cheeks gently, feeling around with my thumbs, examining him. He feels like he is experiencing some type of fever. His skin feels clammy, wet.

"What happened to you out there?" I demand again shakily, my heart stabbing with a curl of panic. "What did they do?"

"I don't know," he whispers tiredly. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, I dread he is drifting out of conscious. I've never seen him look so much in pain before.

"Eric," I whisper loudly. I tap him gently on the cheeks with my fingers, trying to bring him back. "Eric, don't go!"

"What?" He reopens his eyes slowly and looks at me. His eyes are devoid of any light, any emotion and coherency. "I'm... I'm tired, Sookie. It... it hurts." He grits his teeth and grunts loudly, suddenly. He won't stop trembling, won't stop panting.

"Where? Where does it hurt?"

"Here." He takes my hand and guides it to his neck. I feel something wet underneath my fingertips, something wet. I think he is bleeding, and I feel a hole in his flesh, a big ripped-apart gash of skin. I look more closely underneath the dull light; He coughs a bit, and bright red blood bubbles from a wound in his neck. It is roughly five-inches thick into his neck, and it looks awfully deep. The neck wound looks fresh, recent. It only happened a while ago while I was sleeping.

"What did they do to you?"

"I don't know, Sookie," he breathes, his voice low, drained. "I felt it, though. They did something to me. One of the men. They... they took off their mask, and then the other one held me back. They... they did something. I think they... they bit me. Why would they do that, Sookie?"

I pull my hand away from the gash and look at it. His shiny blood coats my fingertips.

Trying not to panic and keep calm, I manage to get to my feet. I fling off one of my socks, move over to the grotty sink, and pour some cold water onto it. Once I return to him, I kneel down and scrunch the sock between my fingers tightly, wringing it of excess water. And then, cautiously, I start to dab the blood off his wound. His trembling grows even more intense, and a deep noise of anguish gets caught in his throat. The neck of his white shirt is sticking to his skin, to the blood, so I kneel over him and peel it down off the wound carefully. I press the wet sock into his neck again, and he whimpers.

"It is feeling any better?" I ask nervously.

"No. Not really."

I can feel tears trailing down my cheeks at how miserable and hurt he looks. I've never felt more miserable in my entire life, more helpless. Usually, if I tend to his wounds, they clear up well within a week or two. Those wounds were superficial, though. This wound looked more like someone had bitten a chunk of skin right off his neck, and the blood keeps pouring and trickling down the side of his neck, no matter how many times I pressed the sock into it to staunch the flow of blood.

I feel a sudden surge of rage, throughout the panicky feelings wasting away inside of me. How could these people do this to him? Why would they? What have we ever done to them? It was obvious they had done this intentionally so that he would bleed to death. But why on earth would they?

He tries to sit up, but I put my hands down on his shoulders and shove him back down. I crouch over his legs, and bring them out from their curved position, stretching them out so his entire body is laying on the foamy mattress. Usually, we share, but it's obvious he needs it way more than I do right now.

"Try to relax, okay?" I whisper, hopefully in a soothing voice.

He tries to nod, but it only makes the pain around his neck even more intense. He makes a low guttural noise through his teeth, and closes his eyes tightly shut. Tears streak down his cheeks silently. This is the first time I have ever seen him cry, and it makes the situation a billion times more depressing.

"Stay with me," I whisper over him gently. Reaching down, I kiss him on the cheek. "Stay with me, please. Don't leave me alone in here."

He says something in a hushed voice. I have to ask him to repeat himself, he is so quiet. "I am glad it is me," he says. "I wanted it to be me first, and not you." I don't even have to think of what he meant by that, and because I instantly understood, I begin to cry.

* * *

Hours passed, and I must have drifted off to sleep. When I open my eyes, I see that Eric is still resting in that exact position I put him on the mattress previously. Blood was covering the side of his shirt in a horrible, long stain. He must be bleeding so profusely and excessively, that the blood refused to stop flowing. I draw in a deep, shuddering anxious breath, as I hop up onto my knees, leaning over him again. He is so quiet, so still, I can't even hear him breathing. I stroke his hair gently, indulging in the feel of it, while I listened extra carefully for any hint of breathing. Much to my dismay, there isn't any.

I press the pads of two of my fingers gently into the circle of his slack and dry lips, and I am absolutely horrified at how cold he feels. He feels as if someone has locked him in a huge refrigerator hours ago, and left him to freeze. His skin is no longer even the healthy, pink-hue it usually was. His skin looks duller, greyish. A corpse's complexion.

Without warning, the door flung open. Two men were in their masks again. The masks covering their faces made their breaths sound almost robotic and tinny. I stay where I am, by Eric's body. I refuse to leave. Too bad they wouldn't let me have it that way.

One of the men grip me by my upper arms, flinging me to my feet.

I have no energy to scream, but I try with all my might anyway.

"Don't touch him! Don't you fucking dare! Leave Eric alone!"

The other man knelt down to grasp Eric by his ankles. And then he swerves his head off the mattress, and starts dragging him without any care whatsoever. Eric's head lolls to the side, and he does not stir as he usually does. He usually puts up a decent fight. Now, he seems almost already dead and gone.

I can't take any more of it. I want them to stop touching him, and leave him be. The man was halfway towards the door with Eric's body when I swung my leg into the air to get at him. Unfortunately, the man grasping me from behind was far too tight and I missed by a hair's length. I scream through my teeth, and work all my energy into throwing a decent enough force into stomping the captor closest to me with my feet. Being barefooted, it doesn't pack much of a blow, and it seems to hurt my toes and not the man seizing me. He doesn't make a single outcry of pain.

"Let him go! Why did you kill him? Look at him! He is bleeding, you sick assholes!"

The fight is over in hardly a minute, when the captor behind me releases me and deals out a hard slap into my cheek. I lose my footing and stagger.

"Where are you taking him? What are you doing to him?"

I lose all control. I turn into a wild animal. I get onto my knees, and start crawling towards the man's leg manically. I launch myself at his shins, circle my arms around them tightly, and hold on for dear life, trying to prevent him from moving. He reaches down, takes tight hold of my forearms, and all it takes is one wrench of my arms with his hands to pull his shins free.

Screaming again, I try to get at him. But I'm far too late.

With cold silence, he marches out the door and slams it shut in my face.

Alone in the cold disgusting room, I twist my knees into my chest and start to cry. I want to be strong, but all I could wonder was what they were now doing to Eric. If he died... if he passed on... how could I manage to stop myself from going insane without him? By the time the door creaked open again, I was far too exhausted and drained to move. I sit there, still, tears rolling down my cheeks, as I watch them with loathing in my eyes.

They place something down on the floor- a heavy body- and then they disappear.

My breath hitches in my throat, because I know it's Eric. They have brought him back to me, at last. Hurriedly, I crawl up onto my feet and limp over to him desperately. I crouch over him and roll him over underneath my legs, supporting his head in my lap. I comb my fingers through his dark blond hair gently, luxuriating in all that is him; kissing him around his brows, and thanking God that he has returned to me. My one and only friend. My only friend in this hell-hole.

There is blood smears on the corners of his mouth.

_**Hoping you liked this chapter? I want to thank you all so much for your reviews and alerts. It encouraged me to get writing quicker. I want to keep the suspense up for the time being, but we will find out how was responsible of holding them captive very soon. We will also find out what has happened to Eric. You can feel free to guess; I think some of you may have a fair idea. ;)**_

_** :)**_


	3. Freedom

_**Chapter Three**_

I know it is the end for him. I know it. He probably knows it himself.

For however long hours, I lay there, supporting his head in my lap, kissing his skin over and over. I run my fingers through his hair, press my lips into his forehead, chanting prayers to God into his skin fervently. _God, please help us, if you're even out there at all. Please bring him back to me. Please, oh please. I cannot get through this alone. I need Eric with me. Please._ Eric doesn't speak. He doesn't move at all. He doesn't even breathe anymore. It's what terrifies me the most about all of this. I can't hear him breathing at all, and his skin; It's so cold, so cold. Like death.

Suddenly, there is a loud commotion outside the door. It hasn't been this loud before. I hear voices shouting. I think I almost hear someone calling my name, unless I am imagining it. Probably am.

Eric makes a low grunting noise, and lifts his head at the sound. His eyes open, and he squints at the door. I laugh and cry and laugh again, so hard, so thankful, I can't help myself.

He's alive. He's actually still alive. _Oh, thank you Lord. Thank you for giving me this_.

His eyes fix on the door, as we hear movement behind it. He looks odd. Different, almost. Changed.

He gets to his feet abruptly, and I stare up at him, shocked, with his fluid and seemingly painless movement. It's like he has only just awoken from a lengthy nap. How is that possible? His neck wound is even gone completely. The only thing left of it, is the patch of blood staining his shirt as a reminder.

"Sookie," he whispers unevenly, not looking at me.

"Eric, what's happening?"

"I don't know. But get to your feet."

He helps me up, and he pushes me behind him. I haven't the slightest idea why, or what he is doing. But he has his body inclined so that I am far behind him, and furthest away from the door. The commotion outside gets louder, the voices, and then we hear someone calling out my name.

"Yeah," Eric yells, "She's in here. Get in here, quickly."

Afraid, I grab onto his shoulders, cowering into his back for dear life. I think it's them. They've come to do something to me now. Eric's hands fan out slightly, creating something of a shield near me. I cling to his forearms tightly, dreading the instance that door flings open.

"It's okay, Sookie," he murmurs calmly, but I can't say I believe for a second. "I'm here." And I don't even know how he possibly still is, or why. I saw the wound of his neck. The gash had looked severe and traumatic, and he had lost a heck of a lot of blood. My fingers dig into his shirt, and I try to breathe slowly to stop myself from slipping into a full-on panic attack.

Then it happens.

The door bursts open, bathing us in a bright light. Sunlight. It is the most beautiful sight in the entire world. Still, we both recoil from the sudden brightness. We haven't seen it in what feels like months, and months. Eric covers his eyes with an arm and I hear him make a distressed noise. I see a silhouette enter the doorway. It isn't one of our masked men, I would have recognized them first instance, and it isn't like them to leave the door wide-open for us.

"Sookie?"

Oh, Jesus. I know that voice. It belongs to my brother, Jason. I almost cry out loud in shock. I didn't think I would ever be hearing his voice again. The figure starts moving towards us, taking slow, cautious movements, like we're a pair of frightened, defensive, and unpredictable animals.

"Sis? Please tell me you're in here!"

"Jason," I whisper.

"Oh my god," he breathes in shock. "Fuck, sis. It's really you! You're here!" He laughs out loud in astonishment. I've never felt happier in my entire life.

He starts moving closer, and I try to squeeze my way out from Eric. He stops me by pushing me back with his hand, extending his arms further, creating an even further gap from my brother and I.

"Back the fuck up," Eric growls, in a threatening way I've never heard come from him before. Jason ignores him, coming closer, and it's then that I finally see his face. Oh, Jesus. His beautiful, bastard, handsome face. I never realized how much I missed it, until now.

The tears fall immediately and I gasp out loud.

"Oh, sis," Jason cries. "It is you."

I try to get to him, to hug him to death, to cry all over him, but Eric pushes me back yet again. My friend from in this shit-hole is stoic and mistrusting. He has learned to trust no one after all we've been through. Aside from me, of course.

"You come any closer... if you hurt her in any way..." Eric begins.

"Eric, it's fine," I whisper nervously, rubbing his back through the dirty material of his shirt. "We're safe now. It's only my brother. He has come to save us."

I can hear Jason crying. "I was so fucking worried, sis," he sniffles. "So fucking worried... Gran too."

Oh, Gran. Adele Stackhouse. I absolutely cannot wait to see her again.

Suddenly, Eric lunges forward. His hand grips Jason's throat, and up in the air Jason went. He looks like a rag-doll, his feet inches off the ground and kicking. He chokes and gags and splutters unpleasantly.

"Eric, it's all right."

Eric's eyes flicker over to me reluctantly, as he holds my brother continuously in place. Then unwillingly, he sucks in a deep breath, and releases him. Jason falls to the ground immediately like a sack of potatoes, winded.

Five paramedics enter the room next then dart over to us. A slew of law enforcement officers pop in as well. I kneel near Jason, and fling my arms around his back. We cry together, shaking with sobs of joy and terror, and then I begin to become so exhausted and overwhelmed that I can't stand being awake anymore. My body wants to recover from all the turmoil it has been through, and I feel myself nod off into the crook of my brother's warm, inviting shoulder.

When I arrive at the hospital, I wake up to find a white blanket over me, and I'm being wheeled into a ward in wheelchair by Jason. A few nurses assist me onto the bed, and it's only then that it occurs to me that I've missed so much. I have absolutely no concept on what date it is, the time, the hours. How long Eric and I have been shut-away from the world for, how many days and nights... it is still unknown to me.

_Eric._

I peer around the room, but my eyes don't find him.

"Crikey. What day is it?" I ask, really to no one in particular. It is a nurse fussing around me, checking my blood pressure, that answers.

"It's a Monday."

I stare at her blankly. That doesn't mean anything to me. "The month?"

"October." Well, that certainly does. October? Jesus Christ. Last time I saw a calendar, it was only the start of August. It takes me a second to process all that information in. Then, with tears welling in my eyes, I look at the nurse again. "Where's Eric?"

She seems surprised by question. Not to mention downright confused. "Who?"

"Eric. Northman," I repeat, slowly with harsh emphasize so she really hears me. "Where is he?"

"Oh, you mean the fellow you were with?"

"Yes." I nod fiercely. "Him. Where is he? Is he all right?" The only time we've ever been separated, was when they took him out of the room and beat on him. I try to stifle my irritation and panic at the blank expression on her face. "Where is he?" I try to climb out of the bed, but numerous hands push me down.

Jason soothes me softly, rubs my arms. I honestly don't care for comfort right now. I just want Eric. That's it. They wouldn't have left him there, would they? Surely not. So where the hell is he? Why isn't he here with me?

"Mrs. Stackhouse, you need to calm down," the nurse says, in a professional, careless voice. My breathing has become erratic. I can feel a rash developing on my chest. "The police are searching for him, as we speak. Soon as I receive notification that he has arrived in the hospital safe and sound, I will report to you, soon as I possibly can."

"What do you mean the police are searching for him?" I start to cry hysterically. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

"Ssh, sis," Jason whispers into my hair.

"No. Eric?" I start to call around the room loudly. "Eric?" No response. I try again, louder and louder. I don't care if I seem like an insane woman. I want Eric here, and I want him now. I know he needs treatment more than I do. He's been hurting so much in that terrible room. "Eric Northman? Eric!"

A male doctor rushes in. The nurse tries to hold me down. I see a syringe in the doctor's hand, and then it goes straight into the thin crook of my elbow. The waves of terror consume me. But then noises stop. A flood of calm enters throughout me. I want to sleep, that's all. Have a good sleep.

* * *

I open my eyes and hear distant beeping noises. For a moment, I can't remember where I am. I start to feel scared, think I'm back there. But then as I flop up against the pillows, I realize I'm safe now. I'm here, in the hospital. They can't hurt us anymore. We're free.

I try to move my arms. I realize I am being confined to the bed, strapped down by restraints. Why would they do this to me? Why? I'm not some insane woman needing it. Why are they so cruel? I turn my cheek against the pillow. The beeping noise comes from an I.V machine. A tube is hooked to it, coming from my elbow. A weird white fluid is being sent into my bloodstream.

"Eric," I cry. Nothing seems to come out of my mouth. No sounds. No anything. But the warm, wet salty tears run down my lips. I can taste them.

I turn my cheek back towards the window. The white curtains have been left strewn open. I can see the outside world now. It's night-time. I can finally see the world again. Only it looks dark and dismal, and scary, because Eric isn't in it.

I close my eyes tightly shut. My nose feels all clogged up with snot.

And then I hear a noise. The window to the left of me is being dragged open noisily. A cold gust of air fans across my face. Finally, I can feel the breeze brushing against my skin. At last. I hear a set of footsteps against the tiles of the hospital floor. I try to wriggle, move my hands free from the restraints. They don't budge any.

Then something penetrates through my claustrophobia. My panic. A voice.

A furious, familiar voice.

"What the fuck have they done to you? Why are you in restraints?"

He's here. I don't know how it's possible, but he is.

I force my eyes open to see him. He is standing by the open window. I push against the restraints again. I want to get up, bring myself to him. I want to hug him. He is the only one that can possibly understand what we went through. He darts over to me, finally, finally. He reaches down and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. His skin is so cold. I inhale out with immense relief at his touch.

"I didn't know where you were," I mutter softly. "I didn't know. And it frightened me so badly. They said they couldn't find you. What happened, Eric?"

"Nothing happened, Sookie." He runs his fingers over my chin, over the corner of my lips. "I'm fucking wonderful." I have to laugh miserably at his choice in words. So typical of him.

"This place is too big. It's weird. And I can see outside now."

"I know." Of course he does. He is the only person who truly does.

"You disappeared."

"I'm here now with you, aren't I?"

"Yes. Yes, you are. Get me out of these restraints, please."

Without a word, he does. He puts both hands on the restrains, pulling the material from the seams in one sudden, easy movement, flicking his wrists about. I breathe with happiness at finally being able to move. I rub my sore, skinny wrists with my fingers. How did he do that, though? I move onto my side a bit, creating space for him on the small bed. It's a matter of a few seconds and then we're together, stretched out on the bed; Me under the covers, him on top. I lean my head against his shoulder, snuggling into his side.

"How'd you get in here?" I bring myself to ask, breaking through my bubble of contentment at being near him again.

"I flew in through the window," he says casually.

I snort, feeling surprised at how I'm still able to laugh considering my beaten and run-down state. "Ha-ha. Seriously, though. How did you?"

"I am being serious. I did."

"What's going to happen now?" I ask, turning around so I can slip my hands around him. He kisses me gently, around my cheeks, my forehead; trailing tender thankful kisses onto me. I smile weakly.

"I don't know what happens now, Sookie. But I know we're going to be perfectly fine. You and me."

**So, they're finally out and free, but Eric has changed somewhat. He has abilities Sookie is struggling to understand right now.**

**Hoping you're enjoying the story? I would really love to hear your thoughts. :-) Is it boring/needs more action? What do you think? **


	4. I Love Her

_**Chapter Four**_

I wake to the sound of low voices in the room. I know Eric is still with me, lying stretched out on the hospital bed, because I can feel his arms around me, his back is pressed into my side, and his hands are clasping around mine. He feels cold, and smells freshly clean, like he has showered only recently during the time we escaped, which feels unfamiliar, but he's still ultimately Eric, we're together and he hasn't disappeared again, and that comforts me to the moon and back.

"Who is that man lying with her?" a woman's voice sounds. She has a familiar voice; a quivering elderly woman's voice, and I know her immediately to be my Grandmother, Adele Stackhouse.

I crack my eyes open to see the window has been shut and the blinds drawn. It's still early night hours of the morning. I spot an older woman sitting in a chair, my Grandmother; her whitish long hair neatly wrapped up in one of her purple head-scarves. Sitting beside her in another chair, with his arm slung around her comfortingly is my brother, Jason. He looks tired and in dangerous need of sleep. Gran looks tired and stressed- but she's lovely as usual. With everything she has been through, the panic of her Granddaughter going missing, she hasn't had the time to properly dress herself. She's got on her nightgown and slippers, with a warm bath robe wrapped around her.

"I don't know who the dude is exactly, but I think she likes sleeping with him," Jason assures her. He's looking lovely as ever as well, dare I think such a thing of my selfish and egotistical brother. His wiry, dark hair is messy and sticking up chaotically, as though he has only just reawaken from a rough sleep. His long legs are stretched out before him in the chair. "I think she'll be okay, Gran. She looks far better than what she looked like when I found her. I think she'll do good with a hot meal in her."

"Oh, definitely," Gran murmurs nervously in agreement. "The instance we get her home, I'm settling her down in a chair and forcing her to eat three full meals, until she fattens up a bit." Gran has always been the ultra-concerned type when it comes to her Grandchildren, and this makes me smile slightly. It's absolutely great to hear their voices again.

"Sis, are you awake?" Jason asks rather excitedly, and just like that, I'm busted. I open my eyes fully, and their faces light up like it's Christmas morning.

"Hello Jason, and Gran," I whisper, my voice thick with sleep. "So awfully good to see the pair of you. I've missed you both so terribly." Jason jumps up and pours me a glass of water considerately, which honestly surprises me. Usually Jason thinks about himself before all others, even his younger sister. He's usually all about boobs, long legs, and hoochies. He hands me the glass and I drink it down greedily, forgetting my manners. But manners really be damned to hell, after all I've been through these past hours. I look at the pair of them, and Gran has her nose buried in a handkerchief.

"Oh, Sookie," Gran says. Her voice is quiet with nerves and shaky.

"Hello my lovely Granny," I say shyly. I'm fighting the urge to bury my face into Eric's shoulder like a three-year-old. I don't, though, because I know they're my family; I shouldn't be shy of them. It just feels... strange to be around them again.

"Sookie, honey. Who is this man in your bed?" Gran asks quietly. It's as though she thinks I'm so delicate like glass, that speaking in a normal volume voice will shatter me.

"Oh, this is..." I struggle for words. Should I tell them who he really is? "This is a...a close friend. He is very special to my heart," I just finish awkwardly to simplify things. I don't think they really believe me, because Bon Temps is a small town, and surely they would have seen Eric. I always introduce my friend's to my family. I try to sit up slowly, and feel Eric stir a bit. He draws my pair of hands protectively into his chest. I feel cramped in the bed, tangled together with Eric's long limbs due to lack of space. But there is no denying I'm thankful he is here. He returned to me. It doesn't look all too good for Gran and Jason to witness their Grandchild and little sister getting cuddled to death by this masculine stranger.

But there is no doubt it makes me feel better, though.

Safer.

"Are you two... together?" Gran asks, and I blanch, shocked that she has ultimately came to that conclusion. I've been single for what feels like forever in Bon Temps, keeping modest. Promiscuity doesn't run through siblings. I'm the good and honest one, in comparison to Jason's wild, careless ways. I swear, he lives like a bachelor. I take a moment to crane my neck and peer down at Eric, and I take a silent moment to consider the way we are positioned out on the bed. It's hardly any surprise anyone would come to that conclusion. It's a rather sexual position, I guess, if you look at it in a different light. Eric's chin is resting on my shoulder, and I can feel his groin literally squishing into my backside.

"Yes," I hear Eric breathe softly in a scratchy voice near my earlobe. I relax at once, pleased he is awake. But also, I'm rather embarrassed. "We're together."

I nod, pretending, because it's the best way I can think of evading the question any further.

"Eric... he... he helped me..." I stumble over my words miserably. I'm trying not to do him in, and at the same time, I'm trying to phrase it in a better light for my family. "He... he was the first person who came into the hospital to see me, I think."

A long shiver courses through me, as I get mental images. Flashes of vivid events play out harshly in my mind: Eric returning to me, bleeding with a neck wound. Eric groaning in pain and intense agony. All the times I had to nurse him whenever he came back from whatever those masked people had done to him. I think Eric feels my shuddering body, because his arms come under my waist in the blankets, pulling me into him more tightly, and his chin comes to rest near the crook of my neck. It's a rather possessive gesture, but I can feel myself calming immediately when he inclines his head a bit to press a brief kiss into my neck.

Then I feel him slowly sit up, and I turn to look at him. His eyes are fully open now, and he hardly looks sleepy and exhausted in the slightest; Just a bit red-rimmed around the eyes and ashen. It's as if, to him, the thing never happened. He looks as though he is doing perfectly fine. So does his body. He has no telling bruises, or wounds anymore, which is odd, because I know for a fact that he had plenty before.

"Look, excuse me, but can we talk about something else?" He sounds very irritated. "It's hard for Sookie to speak about it. She wouldn't even speak to me. She's traumatized right now." I've set off his protective mode, it seems, and he is nothing but all-too willing to come to my aid. Gran looks away, appropriately embarrassed and scolded. Jason looks apologetic, but I notice his eyes are fixed on Eric's face.

I lean back to look at Eric again myself.

He's staring right at Jason, and when I return my eyes over to my brother, he looks caught-out now that Eric has noticed him staring, so instead he quickly looks away to my Grandmother's face intently.

"How are you feeling, dear?" Gran asks me directly, and it seems she is internally praying it is the right question to ask.

"All right, Gran." I feel anything but all right, but I feel I need to lie to her to keep her in good spirits. I feel Eric sit up and lean back away from me. I feel rather awkward, so I make a move to throw the sheets off me and stand on my feet.

Eric stops me by grabbing my shoulders and holding them.

"What are you doing?" he asks, looking me anxiously in the eye. I'm a little shocked. He certainly wasn't like this when we were stuck together in that God-awful room, but I suppose maybe that's because it was only the two of us, and we only had each other to lean on; We didn't have to worry about other people at the time, and now, literally, the world is our oyster again in an extremely daunting way.

I feel a sudden urge to pee. I didn't realize I had to, until just now. "I gotta go do my business," I explain and he nods. His hands slide off my shoulders, and I can feel his eyes on me as I slide off the bed. It feels rather funny to walk, but I seem to make it into the bathroom without a stumble. I hear my brother trying to squeeze out some more information from Eric. He doesn't respond, I can hear him merely grunting. I pull down my underwear and sit shaking on the toilet seat. Even the cleanliness of the toilet is astounding to me. You really need some time to get used to it.

After flushing and washing my hands thoroughly, I emerge back into the room, feeling awkward as three pairs of eyes watch me. I stretch my limbs, giving them a good old shake, then stand around, trying to get used to everything.

Eric is watching me funny like I've grown a moustache.

"Why are you standing over there?" He questions. He gives a nod with his forehead, indicating where I'm standing aimlessly away from the hospital bed. He's being rather pushy, but I bite back my irritation and return to my side of the small bed. He pats the mattress loudly, and onto it, I return, feeling relaxed now that my body doesn't feel so rigid and stiff. He sits up to rest his head against the headboard behind us, and I do the same. He slips his arm around my shoulder, his hand dangling near my left breast.

Gran and Jason look utterly dumbfounded, it is almost comical.

"I feel extremely protective of Sookie, after everything she has been through," Eric offers by way of explanation. My Grandmother's eyes soften warmly. I dart a look up at his face quizzically. After everything I've been through? Well, hell. What about everything he has been through, as well? Or has he forgotten already? Good Lord.

"Do you realize how long you were gone?" Gran says concernedly. I look down at my hands, clenching them tightly. I don't really want to know, it scares me to know how much time has actually passed, and yet, at the same time I'm absolutely dying to know. "You were gone for over two and a half months, sweetie. They were the worst two and a half months of my life."

I gasp and Eric reaches down with the hand dangling at my collarbone, by accident I'm assuming, to squeeze my breast. It's the closest thing he can find, but I see him tense up in embarrassment over doing such a thing without thinking. I had figured as much, since I recalled looking on Gran's calendar and seeing the month was August. Still, it surprises me. It had definitely felt as though years had passed in that room.

"So what the fuck took you so long to find her?" Eric asks, and I know why he is getting so agitated about it. He was there, too. He deserves an explanation as much as I do, though they don't actually know he was held captive too. I push my legs up into my chest, bowing my head and sticking my fingers in my ratty, uncombed hair. Right now, a confrontation is the very last thing I want to happen.

"It took us three days to realize something was actually amiss with my little sister," Jason explains quickly. "We thought at first that she had just gone off to a friend's place. We called around Tara's and then Arlene's house, but realized you weren't there. They hadn't heard from you either." Jason looks at me directly as he explains this. "So Gran called the police and we put on a missing person's notice for you. The entire town did every means they could to find you, sis. Even your boss, Sam, he spread word 'round town that you were missing. We made posters with your picture on it, and everything."

"Well, obviously you didn't try fucking hard enough," Eric spits out rudely. "It took you almost three fucking months to find her. That isn't good enough, in my honest opinion." I bury my face in my hands. "Do you have any idea what's she been through? I wouldn't wish any of my enemies to be in that ordeal Sookie went through, even." I know he is getting fired up because he was in this, too. It's why he is being so verbal on the matter.

Gran looks so sad, as if she is about to cry. Oh, no.

"Stop it, Eric," I say harshly. I can feel myself on the verge of breaking down. I'm dangling by a thin thread. "Blaming other people isn't really helping any. It's over now. Just stop it."

I push his arm off me, and sit up. I don't want him to do this. I can't stand all the arguing, and his foul words. How dare he right now?

"Sookie?" he whispers gently. I peek over at him through my hands to see his face shift immediately from intense anger to something softer. His jaw unclenched, and his eyes warm at me. "I'm sorry, you're right." His hand stretches out tentatively to touch my knee. I just let him anyway. He looks over at Gran and Jason. "I apologize. I shouldn't have lost my head just then, and push the blame onto the pair of you. What you did, was good. What your town did for her, very good. She's here now. It's all that matters. I sincerely apologize."

A nurse comes in at the right moment to check on me and see whether I'm awake or not. She rushes over, checks my vitals and my blood pressure again. She also asks Eric politely if he will move off the bed, and he looks positively furious. He watches on with gritted teeth and rage-fuelled eyes. I've never seen him look so mad before. Why is he being like this? First, he starts arguments with my poor family, who are innocent and just equally as much the victims as I am. They lost their Grandchild, and their sister. Then, he starts glowering quietly at the nurse all because she is simply touching me and helping me to recover? What's his deal? Because I certainly do not understand what the heck is wrong with him.

Later, Tara arrives, and the nurse informs us it is getting too crowded with visitors this late at night. Eric and Jason offer to leave, so Tara can pop in to see me. Eric stares after me lingering as he leaves, and I can see him even as he stands outside the room. He looks in through the open door, leaning against the wall across from it.

Obviously he isn't going to let me out of his sight from hereon.

Tara is so much more beautiful than I remembered. Her dark hair is longer and braided, falling down her brown shoulders in lovely strands. There were honestly moments were I believed I wasn't ever going to see her again, either, and the sight of her here is overwhelming. Her lips tremble as she looks me over as I sit pathetically on the bed. Her dark brown eyes threaten to spill with tears. She drops her backpack on the floor carelessly, and literally throws herself onto me. She hugs me tightly, and I hear her sob into my cheek.

"Don't you ever do that again," she says, as if I had a choice in the matter and decided to get myself kidnapped. "Fucking hell, Sook."

"I'm sorry," I murmur into her shoulder sadly.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that!" she cries and pulls back to examine me desperately. "I just... I hope we find the fuckers that did this to you." She clutches my head in her hands and tears run down her cheeks. She pulls me into her again, tightening her grip. "I was so fucking scared for you, Sook. I just... oh Jesus." I burst out laughing, and it sounds odd to me. It feels like I haven't laughed honestly in years. Eventually, she pulls back with reluctance and sits beside me on the bed. I look away nervously out the door at Eric, feeling very uncomfortable over her intense scrutiny. It's like Tara is trying to memorize my face. Very awkward. "You look like shit."

"I know. And thanks." Hell, there isn't any point in denying it. "But so would you, too."

"What happened to you?"

"Tara..." I trail off helplessly. I really can't explain. I don't want to talk about it. It is over now. We're free.

"All right, all right. I won't push it. But fuck, Sookie."

"Thank you." She has no idea in hell of how thankful I truly am that she is dropping it.

"So, I hear you got yourself a fella?" she says casually. "Jason just told me." She peers quickly back at Eric, who has his arms crossed and an incredibly rude look on his face. "He's pretty cute for a white boy."

"He is," I agree, really looking at him myself. I never really even thought about it before. I guess, when you're stuck in a life-or-death situation, the sex appeal of another doesn't really register. After all, there is thousands of other things you have to think about: Such as surviving and being the other person's anchor.

"You fucking him?"

"Tara!"

"Sorry, I'm just curious." Her apology is completely insincere. Bitch. "He's pretty big. Tall. He's wearing big-ass shoes, and he's got pretty strong, masculine hands. You know what they say about that..." She goes so far as to wink at me. Dirty little scoundrel. God I've missed her.

"Come on, Tara. I haven't exactly been thinking about that kind of thing lately," I tell her, my voice sarcastic and bitter.

"Oh, no. Of course." She only just literally realizes Gran is sitting around, and she looks hilariously embarrassed. "Oh, hey, Adele. Sorry, didn't see you there."

We sit around, talking about everything I've missed, which turns out to be a lot. She's dating this girl, called Pam, and she thinks it might be on its way to getting serious. After a while, Gran excuses herself by pecking me on the cheek and crying into my hair, and she exits the room. Eric comes back in, his hands tucked deeply into the pockets of his jeans. He looks between us warily, as if afraid he is interrupting.

Tara gives him a good and careful perve, seeming to very much like what she's seeing. "Hi there," she says good-naturedly, with a wry smile curling her lips. "I'm Tara Thornton. This nutty girl's best friend."

"I know who you are," Eric says lowly, nodding. It takes me a moment to remember. Of course he would. I talked about her a few times, filling him into my life. "Sookie has told me a lot about you. You're very special to her."

"Well, that's peachy I guess, but I know absolutely nothing about you. It don't sit well with me, to be perfectly honest. You like my friend or what?"

"Oh, it's more than like," he says. He looks slightly embarrassed by saying this. He won't look me in the eye now. "I love her, very much so." His voice goes lower and breathless with profound emotion at that declaration. My heart stops for one single second over that. But before I can say anything and before Tara can get another word out, he sends a two-fingered wave at us. "It's best I'll be off now. I can't stay around for too long." Him leaving scares me. I don't want him to. My entire head is screaming against it. "I'll be back soon," he tells me reassuringly, as if he knows I'm panicked. "Sleep well." And then, with a fleeting soft look at me, he leaves.

Tara's eyes widen as she stares at me, her mouth dropped open. "Fuck, Sookie! What the hell was that all about?" And then she hugs me, and cries again, and I'm left feeling breathless and all hugged-out.

**Thank you all so very much for the kind reviews :-) You guy's are the best.**

**Hoping you enjoy this one. Keen to hear, well, read your thoughts! In response to Guest reviewer: I apologize if the dialogue is a bit weird. I am not very good with english, it isn't my first language but I'm trying my best. Sorry if it is confusing and difficult to understand. **


	5. A Change

_**Chapter Five**_

It's funny being back home. Not to mention downright weird. I keep feeling as though it's all a surreal dream; That any minute now, I'll wake up and cold, cruel reality will seep into the surface. But funny enough, it hasn't as yet. Maybe I'm not so much dreaming, after all?

I think it gives you a new perspective on your life. Not to say that I would like to be in that situation again, where the future was so uncertain and where I wasn't sure whether I would survive to see it or not, because I wouldn't ever want to be stuck in that room again. Not for one damn minute.

I've never realized it until now, that I was living in such a materialistic world. I look around my room and it's as though I see it with a completely new pair of eyes. It looks way too over-the-top.

For instance, my bed looks gigantic. Double doors that open to a closet that has all my clothes hanging in it untouched. Some of the clothes I haven't even worn in years. A T.V that isn't even plugged in. It functions well, but I've never really had any good use for it.

Stupid. Such a waste.

I creep around my bedroom, trying not to appear as creeped out and overwhelmed as I feel. I decide I will clean everything out. I will get rid of the clothes I don't wear, donate them to Goodwill for people who actually need them. I will pack up the old T.V set as well, and drop it off as part of the donation. I know my brother is standing behind me, judging my every move. It feels weird that I even have my family back. I have my brother back, and my Grandmother. And yet, it doesn't feel like home to me. Everything feels sort of strange and foreign to me. I know it's my home, this is where I belong, and yet, it doesn't feel quite right.

I miss that grotty, soiled mattress almost. The one Eric and I made our bed.

I eventually walk over to my bed, and sit down on it. Even the mattress doesn't feel right, because it doesn't feel as sunken as the one Eric and I shared. I pull my legs up into my chest, and peer up at Jason. He stands a cautious distance away, and he has this odd look on his face. I can read it easily; I know that look. It's pity for his younger sister. I don't want or need his pity.

I'm alive. We're both alive.

He drops the duffel bag he brought over to the hospital for my three-night stay, overflowing with warm clothes and shampoo and conditioner, and still keeps his distance. It's as if he thinks I'm about to crack and break into shatters at any minute.

"Come here." I stretch out my hands to him. After a moment of hesitation, he comes forward, and we hug tightly. I rub his back gently, forcing a smile for him. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. You and Gran don't need to worry so much."

"We'll find the fucker's who did this, sis," he breathes into my shoulder, sounding very determined on doing so. "We'll make them pay for what they did to you, I swear. The cops are right on it as we speak."

He leans back to look at me. His eyes are wet. He's been crying so much. It's rather sweet of him to care that much.

"Aside from being stuck in that awful room, and your skinniness, are you going to be okay, sis?" he asks nervously.

"I'll be just fine. It may just take me a little while to get used to everything." I knew I would feel better had Eric been with me. But he wasn't right now. In fact, I hadn't heard from him, aside from that first night I got free and Jason took me into the hospital. I'm worried about him, there's so denying that.

Jason hugs me again, throwing me off-balance. I almost laugh.

"God, I missed you," he says, sniffling into my shoulder. "I was so worried. After about a month, I got to thinking maybe some sick fuck had killed you. I'm so glad you're still alive."

"Me, too," I whisper numbly.

"Do you remember anything at all about the fucker's that held you in there?"

I toss my head sadly. It's the truth, though. Eric and I saw nothing, as far as their faces went. They had kept themselves artfully disguised in masks. Even if the cops pulled me into a room and begged me to take a pick out of a line of people responsible, I would be drawing up blanks. "The only thing I know, Jason," I say, "is that they were men. They talked a few times. Mostly taunting."

"I'll let you get... settled in here, sis." He pulls back from me again, and hurriedly wipes his eyes. I watch him leave the room with little more than sordid curiosity. Then I roll over on my bed, and blink up at the too-white ceiling. I seem to just only want to sleep. I can't be bothered with anything else. But then, I also know I want to pack up things for Goodwill...

Pushing myself up onto my feet, I open the closet and look at all my clothes hanging on the rack. Then, I start tearing them out, one by one, into a large pile at my feet. My Grandmother comes in right at this moment, and she gasps, stunned.

"Sookie, what are you doing? You should be resting, dear. Aren't you tired after your ordeal?"

It's what Gran has named it ever since I returned to her. My Ordeal.

"I'm fine, Gran," I reassure her, lifting up a bundle of clothes and staggering over to my bed. I toss them down in a unneat pile onto the mattress. "I've got to keep busy."

"You want some help?" she asks, concerned. "I can go get your brother to help you with that?"

"No, Gran. Please don't go calling Jason! I'm fine!"

"But your-"

"I'm feeling better." I pull up my sleeves to show her that my wrists are better. "I'll be fine. Please just let me do this."

"Oh, honey. I know you're perfectly capable of doing this on your own. It's just that you've only gotten out of the hospital," she gets out in a rush, "and the doctor said not to overexert yourself, didn't she? Be careful now."

"Gran, I'm fine." My voice sounds too sharp and bitter. I feel terrible for her when she nods and quickly leaves me be. I get so into cleaning out my wardrobe, then soon I'm hurling everything violently across the room. It works me up a sweat and seems to clear my mind perfectly. How ridiculous of me, keeping all this stupid shit in my wardrobe. I don't even wear half of the things.

It all has to go.

Then I look at my bed. I yank off the covers and toss them onto the floor, then grab my set of pillows and throw them overhand at the wall with all my might, letting out a small grunt. I smile at the mattress, and it soothes me in some odd way. There, that's better. Perfect. A mattress is all I need. Fuck everything else.

"Hey, sis, I-" Jason comes in without announcement, panting slightly. "What the hell are you doing? You're making a mess!"

As he comes rushing over to me, I start kicking and punching all the clothes littering the floor.

"Sis, what the fuck? Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine," I manage through my fist-jabbing into a poor, innocent pillow. "Jason, I'm wonderful."

"Yeah, and you look it, too. Just stop it now, sis. You're going to wear yourself out."

His hands come up over me from behind, as he tries to get me into being sensible and less violent. I open my mouth, letting out a piercing, frustrated wail. Then he releases me quickly, and staggers away.

I don't care if I'm not acting like the most sane person in the world. I just don't care anymore. The only thing I seem to care about is... gone. He's AWOL. Disappeared.

Eric.

Even thinking the name alone cripples me, and I start my frantic punching and kicking again. I can't seem to control my limbs. They just want to fly everywhere, lashing out and causing damage. It's frightening. After a bit, I get so exhausted, sleep sounds wonderful. I crash down to the mattress, and before I know it, I'm out.

When I wake again, some time later in the day, Jason comes into my room holding a mug of hot chocolate between his hands. I take it from him gratefully, attempting a smile. I feel terrible over what he saw. I know it must have truly frightened him.

He sits gently by me on the bed, staring at me, like he is afraid if he doesn't look hard enough, I'll somehow disappear. "You're still here," he says, his voice hoarse. "It's still real."

"I guess so," I mumble weakly.

His eyes scan around my room apprehensively. Then they fall back to the mess on the floor. "Sook, what were you thinking of doing?"

"I have no idea," I laugh, confused myself. "It's just I'm not used to all of this. I only had a mattress before. It's really hard to get used to." I look down at the hot chocolate Im gripping in the warm mug. "Even a hot drink... it feels so strange!"

"You will get used to it soon, hopefully. It can't all be bad, right?"

"You know what I'm absolutely dying for, Jason?"

"What, sis?"

Eric. "A hot shower, that's what I need."

"Yeah, you kinda do stink," he says, in a playful way. "But nah. Seriously, the shower is all yours. Go for it, sis."

I can only manage a nod. I look around my hectic room as I place my mug on the desk near my bed. Jason stood, and hugged me again. He was turning into a big hugger, but I found myself enjoying it, because it was rather restful, and he's my older brother, he's safe.

"Pong," he says. "Go shower, smelly."

I manage to stand upright in the shower quite well, although for some reason, my legs feel all cramped and sore from lack of movement in the hospital bed. The water feels glorious beating on my skin, and when I get out to towel-dry my hair and use the hairdryer- even better. It's been so long since I've been able to have a good, thorough wash.

I'm pleased I don't look too rough around the edges. My hair is fractionally longer, it needs cutting, yes. I look thinner, but everything functions well. No need to complain, really. Losing interest quickly in using the dryer, I decide to leave my hair slightly wet. I pick up my towel, slam it in the washing basket, and retreat back into my room, locking the door behind myself as I go. I curl up onto my mattress in a foetal position, and although it feels rather selfish of me to sleep yet again, I manage it.

Hours pass, or maybe it's an eternity... I don't know.

"Sookie?"

My eyes pop open and I lift my head, although I'm suddenly bursting with tears of relief. Standing by my window, and looking nothing but concerned, is Eric. I climb to my feet and he crosses the room in several quick strides. My window is open, and the breeze pushes the curtains around, as I leap into his arms. He staggers back a fraction as I tighten my arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around my waist and holds me in place, tucking his chin near my head.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know what I was even thinking of doing myself," I laugh and sob, overwhelmed with relief. If he's really here, right now in my room, if I'm not dreaming this, then we're safe now. We can protect each other.

He leads me backwards towards the bed, well, whatever is left of it anyhow, and laughs breathlessly in my ear over what I've done.

"What is all this?"

"It reminds me of our mattress. I couldn't get comfortable in all those sheets."

He pulls away from me slowly, and I run over to switch on the light. I don't even recognize him anymore. I gasp in shock. He looks almost like a very different man than the one I knew. Covered with red streaks all over his white shirt, his hair caked with dirt. There is a lot of mud here and there on his face.

"You're all dirty," I murmur.

"I know."

"Why are you all dirty? And _is_ that _blood_?"

He presses a hand to his lips and then we settle ourselves slowly on the mattress. We lie facing each other, not speaking. We just take comfort in each other, happy we're both alive and together again. It's hard to overlook the fact he looks as if he has been rolling in dirt somewhere, though.

"I know this sounds ridiculous, because it's only been a few days, but I've really fucking missed you."

"I know," I tell him softly. "Me, too. I miss everything, weird as that is."

I put my hands carefully on either side of his face, feeling his dirty skin. He still feels so cold.

"How've you been?"

"Different," he says, after an age, "I feel... different, Sookie. Different than what I was before."

"How do you mean?" I ask worriedly.

He pauses for a very long time in thought. It's like he can hardly find how to answer it reasonably so I understand.

"I don't know, but I just do. I think the bite changed me."

Oh, Jesus. The bite. I slide my hand down towards his neck, and peel back his sticky shirt from his skin. "But it looks all healed to me?"

"Yeah, that's what is so strange about it. I thought I was dying. You saw it yourself, didn't you? Didn't I look as if I was dying?"

"You did. I thought you were. I'm glad you're all right now, though." There weren't even any words to explain correctly how much so I was. "What've you been doing with yourself all this time?"

"I'm not the person I used to be, Sookie," he mumbles. "I'm different. I've changed. I'm more than I was before."

"What do you mean? You don't look all that different to me. Aside from all the dirt and... blood, I think."

"I've... I've been hiding." I've never seen him look so afraid before. "I can't stand the daylight anymore. I don't know what's happening to me, Sookie. I don't know. But I'm different."

"All right," I say, hopefully in a soothing voice. He presses his face into his hands, and I can feel him trembling. I scoot over and wrap my arms tightly around him. It is the only way I can think of to try and help him.

"I killed someone."

"What?"

"I fucking killed someone... I've changed into something different... I don't know who I am anymore, Sookie! I... Fuck!"

I flinch back from the sudden ferocity of his voice.

"...And now I'm fucking scaring you, too. I murdered someone. I actually fucking bit them, and then... I... I couldn't stop doing it..."

A distressed sob cuts off his panicked words. My mouth flops open. I've never actually seen him cry before, not like this. Not once like this. Eric was always so strong and courageous when we were locked up together. I was usually the emotional, crying one, and he was always there to comfort me. The shift in positions is unnerving. Seeing this side of him, his intense fear, his confusion, it nearly kills me. I shove my arms away from him and grab his head, pulling it down into my chest, and I can feel the wetness of his tears as they stain my top. I slide my fingers into his hair, hushing him softly, urging him to let it all out. I feel completely and utterly helpless. I mean, what are you meant to do?

"Sssh," I whisper, trying to be supportive. He always was for me. "I'm sure you didn't kill anyone. I'm sure everything is fine. Sssh, it's okay. We'll be fine. You'll be fine." He sniffles and slowly pulls back from my chest to look up at my face. His face is streaked with streams of blood, and it hurts me even more to see him like this. So bleak, and depressed. "It's okay. I promise you it'll all be okay."

"But I killed someone," he whispers tonelessly.

"I'm sure you didn't."

"I did. I saw it. I saw what I did."

"Sssh." I rub my fingers into his hair again, massaging his scalp, hoping to calm him. "It's all right."

"I don't know what's happening to me," he murmurs.

"I know. I don't know myself."

He wipes his eyes hurriedly with the back of his hand, and looks down at it, inspecting his tears curiously. "See," he says, "I've changed, Sookie. This is blood. Blood everywhere."

We hold eye contact, completely motionless. I mightn't understand what he is going through, but I will do anything within my power to help him like he helped me all those times.

He snickers throatily, as he peers down at my shirt. "I got blood all over it."

"It's just a silly shirt." I kiss him on the forehead, and he sniffles again before resting his head back down onto whatever is left of my breasts, cushioning himself.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs, exhausted, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "Never you."

"You never hurt anyone," I state quietly, but firmly. "You're just fine." His body start to relax gradually, and I feel mine doing the same thing in return.

**Thank you all so very much for the kind reviews :-) You guy's are the best.**


	6. A First Kiss

**Big thanks to you all. Hoping you enjoy :-)**

* * *

**_Chapter Six_**

"Come on." After a while, it gets cold lying on only the mattress, so I reach down and grab the cover of my bed. I drag it over the pair of us so we're both equally as warm as each other. Eric puts his arm around me, and rests his head near the back of mine. Even lying together, it is still freezing, because he is. Reaching down, I grab his hands and pull them up to my mouth. I try to breathe some warmth into them, rub my hands over his fingers to create some warm friction. It still doesn't really help any.

"How did you leave so quickly?" I whisper to him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everybody said you disappeared. They couldn't find you."

He nestles in closer, presses his chest into my back, rests his chin on my shoulder. His breath runs over the side of my face, and I shiver. "I had to leave." He is breathing into my ear quietly. "I couldn't stay. The light was blinding."

"It was blinding to me, too. But after a bit, you get used to it. It's probably because we haven't seen the sunlight for some time."

"I don't think that's it. It terrifies me now. The sunlight."

"It did for me as well, at first."

"But I don't mean it like that, Sookie. I mean it literally terrifies me. When I got out... I had the sunlight on my skin for about a minute. My skin felt weird. As though it was... burning my flesh."

I make a face in the darkness of my room. So, I certainly hadn't felt like that. I had only felt relief, comfort at feeling it caress my skin. "Where do you go when it's daylight, though?" I ask. I am confused by what he means.

"I've resorted to hiding from it."

"But where do you possibly hide?"

"There is a reason I'm covered in dirt, Sookie."

I roll over onto my back to look at him. I can't really see him, because my room is all dark anyway. But I can see the faint outline of his head. I could see the roundness of his eyes shining in the dark too. "You hid in dirt?" I couldn't help raising my voice in astonishment. "Seriously?"

"Sssh. I did, though. I'm serious."

"I'm sorry, but that's just crazy."

A cold hand creeps over my shoulder to my chest, right where my heart would be underneath my skin. Smiling in the dark, I put both hands over it, attempting to warm him up again. I feel Eric shift closer on the bed and lay his cheek against my shoulder-blade.

"And what of all the blood, though?"

"I told you what happened."

I still don't believe him. "Yes, I know what you said. I still don't think you did though. It was probably all in your head, Eric."

"I'm not crazy, Sookie." I can hear the irritation in his voice. "I know what I did. I'm not making it up."

"So you actually bit them?" He doesn't answer for a bit. He bites into the skin on my shoulder, gently.

"I did. I think maybe that bite infected me somehow."

"Infected you with what, though?"

"I don't know. A virus maybe. One that makes me crave blood." As if to stress his point, he gently nips at my skin with his front teeth.

"Like a vampire, you mean?" There is humour in my voice. I can't believe it. Not for a second, because vampire's can't exist, can they? I always believed they were only in made-up stories. A silly gruesome creation to scare little children.

"Maybe."

I snort. "Well, that's just silly."

He asks, in a serious voice, "Is it?"

I shrug. "I think so, anyway."

"Well, whatever I am, I'm not the same person I was before."

"You keep saying that, but you really feel the same to me." Even as I say it, I know it isn't true. Because I'm gripping his hand in mine, I know how different he feels. Dry, but different. No longer warm. I just refuse to believe he is a vampire, though. It couldn't be real. Vampire's weren't real. They were make-believe.

We lay there in silence for a long while, until I feel sleepy. My eyes start to feel grainy, but I try to keep them open for as long as I possibly can. I turn slowly back onto my side, and we resume our position of before. He lays pressed up against my back, and I grip his hands tightly in my own, holding them close over my heart. I'm almost afraid he will disappear on me again.

Before I feel sleep consuming me, I say, "Eric?"

"Mmmm?"

"I love you."

His hands grip mine more tightly, and he kisses me around my back. There is a pause, and then he says, quietly, hesitantly, "I love you too, Sookie. And although I'm not the same, I would never hurt you. Never."

Happiness fills my belly quietly.

* * *

When I wake the next morning, I wake to a sunny room and an empty bed. The only thing I have to tell me I wasn't dreaming Eric sleeping in here with me, is the fact there is dry blood on my shirt from him crying. It takes me a second to process that. Eric actually cried blood, rather than tears. If that isn't a pretty decent indicator that he has changed, then I don't know what is.

I won't believe he is a vampire, though. I just won't. I can't. It seems far too... ludicrous and childish to even start thinking that.

Slowly, I extricate myself from my blankets and hop to my feet. I stretch out my tender, cramped limbs, and pull off my stained shirt to put on a new one. Something tells me it'll startle Gran far too much if I keep the bloody shirt on. When I get downstairs, I find the table is already set. Jason is already awake, reading the newspaper and drinking a mug of coffee. I see Gran at the stove, making breakfast.

"Good morning, Sookie." She smiles at me nervously, as if she's afraid I might get upset with her for saying that. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, yes please. I'm dying for one!" My voice goes funny with enthusiasm. I can't remember the last time I've actually had caffeine in me.

I sit in the chair near Jason, and he looks up from the paper. It's as if I'm some frightening strange animal to him. He can't quite look me straight in the eye without some form of pity. I know it is because of how I was last night, with kicking and punching things around in my room.

"What you reading?" I ask curiously, to show him I'm my normal self pretty much again.

He gives me a reluctant smile. "Just an article, sis. Hey, you remember Evelyn Dickens, that old lady who attended Church every weekend? The one that makes those nice biscuits?"

"Yes. Why?" Even though I was gone for a while, I'm pleased to know I can still remember other people and their faces. I remember Evelyn quite well. She made the best chocolate-button biscuits in town. She would always bring a batch to Church every Sunday.

"Well, they just found her yesterday morning. She was murdered."

"What?" I ask, surprised. "Murdered? How?"

Gran turns from fussing around with the coffee machine to listen to. "Well, apparently she was in the middle of walking home from seeing her boyfriend, when she got killed. The police found her body at 8 o'clock the next morning."

"Oh, that's so sad," Gran cries in shock. "Who would do such a thing? She was such a kind lady."

"You know the cemetery across Hummingbird Road? Well, she got murdered right there near her old husband's grave. I think maybe she went to visit him after seeing her boyfriend. They found her near a bunch of flowers and everything."

"Yes. She got murdered there?" I suddenly feel ill.

"Yep. They don't tell much of what her body looked like when they found her, but one of commissioner's said it was the most brutal and gruesome murder they've seen in a while. They said she had bites all over her. That's about all they said. But they're calling this new killer a vampire fanatic."

Vampire fanatic? The ill feeling in my gut increases, as I recall how Eric was last night when he sneaked into my room. Didn't he say he had murdered someone? Bitten them? I shake my head violently. No, it couldn't be possible. Eric definitely wasn't like that. He wasn't a killer. He was a good and gentle, protective person.

No matter how many times I tell myself that over my cup of coffee, though, I can't help feeling it couldn't have all just been a mere coincidence.

* * *

I know what I have to do. I decide to see Eric tonight, and get him to tell me the truth. I need it from him so badly. I need him to confirm to me that he hadn't been the one responsible of killing Evelyn. But as the night slowly closed in, and I sat in my room waiting for him to sneak in, he never did.

I decide to take matters into my own hands. I pull on a warm jacket, slip into some shoes, and sneak downstairs as quietly as possible. I'm not all that sure I'll be able to find him, but I need to. I just need to know the truth.

"Eric Northman," I call loudly in a shaky voice around me, as I stand out into the yard. "You better show yourself this instance!"

No movement. No answer. Nothing.

"Eric," I call again louder. "Come to me! We need to have a little talk!"

I feel a movement from behind me, and instantly I know it's him. Despite I know him, he's the only person I truly trust, I still feel the slightest bit anxious of what I'll see once I turn around.

"I'm here," he says quietly from behind me. "I'm here, Sookie." I go to turn around, but he places a hand gently on top of my shoulder. "Wait," he urges nervously. I can hear him panting loudly. "Just turn around slowly. I don't want you to be afraid of what you see."

Fuck being afraid. I turn around cautiously, and there he stands before me. He wears little more than jeans, and he is barefoot and shirtless. A necklace hangs loosely around his neck, a little pendant dangling at his chest. I think I remember that necklace. He wore it even back then, when we were in that horrible place.

He also has blood smeared on the corner of his mouth. It looks wet. Recent.

An odd tingle of heat surges throughout my body, as I look at him. Anger. A rage so crippling I feel I want to lash out at him uncontrollably.

Sadness pierces my heart like the prick of a painful needle, because it is true. I had hoped he only meant metaphorically speaking on his confession to killing someone. But he hadn't been. No, it was real. I saw it played on the news.

Without thinking of what I'm doing, I growl through my teeth, and lunge at him. He just stands there, taking it. He takes every hit and watches my face emotionlessly as I lash out, beating into his chest with my fists. He doesn't move at all. He simply accepts what I am dishing out at him. I almost wish he would fight back to provoke me even more. Only, he doesn't. Tears tickle my face as I hit and punch every single amount of skin I can find. He makes no protest or murmur of pain. He just watches me and never flinches. He just lets me have my moment of beating on him. After one more strike near his ribcage, my anger quickly fizzles out and exhaustion sets in its place. I'm panting and sobbing silently. I sag against him tiredly, and press my forehead into his chest. After a moment, he places his hands gently on either side of my head, touching my hair. He doesn't say a single word. He just strokes me with his fingers softly, and lets me cry my heart out. It's all the more frustrating that he won't.

"You sick son of a bitch," I cry into his chest.

He speaks in defence of himself and his actions. Finally. "I couldn't help it," he says bleakly. He tucks my head underneath his chin. "Like I said, I've changed, Sookie! I couldn't control myself."

My rage returns again. With all my might, I push him away. I hardly manage to push him far enough; He just staggers two steps backwards in the long grass.

"Pitiful excuse," I murmur furiously.

"But it's the truth." He passes a hand over his face, and stares at me grimly. "I don't know what happened, but that... that woman, she was the first I saw. I don't know what happened, but I felt this... this drive to taste her!" He groans out loud in frustration. "To taste her blood!"

"Why didn't you go to the police?" I demand. "Why didn't you explain to them what happened? Why didn't you come with me to the hospital? What if the doctors could have helped you get better?"

"What, you think they'll believe me?" He is yelling himself. "No, they wouldn't have, and you know it. They would have brought me for a fool, Sookie! I didn't want to kill her, but I... I couldn't stop myself!"

"She was a nice woman, Eric! She was nice!"

He sits down on the grass, with his head in his hands. I let him sit there for a long moment, watching him. When he raises his head to look up at me, there is shiny blood streaming down his cheeks again and all over his eyelids, oddly enough like a panda with black circles around its eyes. "I couldn't help it." He shakes his head. "I couldn't help it, you know that. What, you think I wanted to fucking kill her?"

I kneel beside him on the grass. "I just... I hoped with all my might that you were wrong," I say softly.

"I told you. I know what I did to her. Why would I fucking make that up?"

"How am I supposed to like you, when you do something so cruel like that?" I don't want to be angry, but I am. I just cannot believe it. I'm angry, yet at the same time, I feel sad for him. Afraid for him. "How am I meant to see you as that very same sweet man I knew and had when we were locked away, huh? How can I look at you in the same light anymore, when now I know for real you hurt that woman?"

He buries his face into his hands and cries loudly. It's the most depressing thing in the world.

"I would never hurt you," he moans quietly into his splayed fingers. And I know. I know that, above everything else.

I lay my cheek against his shoulder, and stroke his hair. He is trembling violently. My face feels wet with silent tears of my own. I grab onto his hands and try to pull them away from his face. I wish he wouldn't hide from me. Before I know it, I'm bursting into full-blown sobs as well, frightened to death over what has happened to this poor, lovely man. What has happened to him? Why is this happening? What is going on with him? Could it really be some virus that has turned him to vampirism? How can that be? Finally, he lifts his head so that I can see him, shining blood-red tears, anguished blue eyes and all. We're both afraid. We both don't understand why this is happening to him.

"I know you wouldn't ever dare hurt me," I sob unevenly. "Even if you have changed, you wouldn't. You're the only person I trust in this world, above all others. Even above my Grandmother and my brother. It's you."

His brow creases as new tears form in his eyes. Leaning forward, I place my hand underneath his chin, tipping his face up to look me more directly with them. I don't want him to feel he has to hide from me. Not ever, because he's Eric, regardless of what he has done and who he now is. He's still that very same man who protected me and fought for me when we were trapped away from the world. He is the only one who will ever fully understand the fear we went through. Only him.

Doing something I've never done before, not even all those horrible endless days we were locked away, I lean up on my knees and bend forward to lay my cheek gently against his wet one. I inhale in the smell of him, surprised to find he doesn't smell all that Eric-ish like he used to. I feel him shudder and breathe unevenly through parted lips, and then he turns towards me, so that our lips press together.

This is the first time we have ever kissed on the mouth.


	7. Spoken Invitation

_**Chapter Seven**_

Though we've never kissed before, it feels like it has been a long time coming. It feels right. Most of all, it feels almost... _natural_. Our lips are tentative, at first; Like we are two strangers unsure of how enthusiastically we are meant to get into it. His lips feel very different as they touch mine; Dry, like sandpaper. Cold, like death. He takes my bottom lip between his upper and lower lips, plucking, pulling softly... experimentally, and then there comes a strange, alarming noise from him that makes me pull away with urgency. He makes a startling noise from inside the very back of his throat- a strange, rasping grunt- and then an audible sound comes from his mouth. Leaning back in the grass, I quickly reopen my eyes to stare at him, stunned. I hardly can believe what I am seeing.

It's surreal. Bat-shit crazy. But most of all, it settles a undoubtable understanding into me.

There, glistening white and sharp against his lower lip, are two fangs.

Coldness trickles throughout my veins. _Vampire._

How on earth could it be humanly possible? How could they really exist in this world? Eric was right, I realize now. Whatever had bitten him in that room, it had infected him and changed him forever.

Before I even have time to be afraid and do something that demonstrates it, he brings a hand up to his mouth and cups it over his fangs. His fingers are trembling, and his moist eyes widen with panic due to my reaction.

"Please, don't fear me because of this," he pleads, his voice half-muffled by his hand. He sounds as if he has a sore throat. "I won't hurt you. You know that. I would_ never_ hurt you, Sookie."

Straightening out my shoulders and trying to appear brave, I nod. I clutch a hand over my chest, as though it'll somehow calm my heart down. "I know you won't," I whisper. "It's just going to take a lot of time for me to get used to it. I can't believe this is actually happening."

"I'm still me. I'm still that person I was. I'm just... different."

I find myself laughing hoarsely. "Well, 'different' definitely covers it." Suddenly, it dawns on me how cold he must be. He's only wearing jeans. No shirt, no socks. He must be absolutely freezing. Only, he isn't shivering one bit, nor is his exposed skin showing any tell-tale signs of coldness. After a silent moment of pitying him, I know what must be done. "Come on," I beckon, crawling back on my feet. "Let's get you inside and warm. I'll get you a... blanket or something."

I really have no idea how to deal with this situation. Before, back when we were locked away, I knew a hurting man in need when I saw one. But now, I just didn't know how to comfort him over the frightening situation he must be going through. I was stuck at sea. I feel utterly helpless, for what feels the first time. He follows me uncertainly up the porch steps, and I open the door, stepping to one side to allow him entrance. He looks uncertain for half a minute, before he reluctantly steps one foot forward onto the rug at the door, over the threshold. Then he uses his right foot. Left. Then right again, until he stands there silently with confusing fear in his eyes at me. His lips suddenly twist into pain, and he makes a disturbing noise.

"Eric?" I whisper fearfully. "What is it? What's happening?"

His gaze just locks onto mine. He says nothing.

"Eric? What are you waiting for? I..." But then my words are cut short.

Blood pools at the corner of his eyes, and his skin starts to change colour. From pale white, gradually to a reddish tint, blood-red. And then blood starts trickling out of his mouth, running down his chin. He makes a horrible noise, as though he is gagging and choking, and then he falls backwards out the door at the wooden planks of the porch. I can hear him vomiting all the way from where I stand, frozen, overcome by fear and worry. _What just happened?_

_"_Eric?"

I peek out at him. He is crouched over on his knees, his back hunched, retching up clumps of blackish, old blood. His face is contorted in a grimace of pain. His hands are clenched, and they keep shaking. I've never seen so much blood. Oh, God.

I recall a T.V show I used to love watching, _before_. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. What was it that vampire's in the series needed? A spoken invitation?

"You're allowed to be here!" I start shouting. "I invite you in! Come in, please! Stop! You're welcome in!"

Quick as a sharp blade slicing through grass, it stops. He relaxes, and stops coughing up blood. The grimaces of pain and agony instantly disappears. His skin tone starts evening out, from a light pink colour, to normal pale complexion again. A breath of relief leaves my lungs quietly.

"Sorry," I whisper sadly. "I... I didn't know we would have to do that! I didn't know that would happen to you, Eric. Oh, I'm so sorry." I feel miserable for him all over again, although I know I'm not the one accountable for the changes he is undergoing here. Whoever the vampire was that did this to him- how _could_ they? Why wouldn't they explain to him what was happening, and what would be required of him? It would have helped for him to know what he was expecting along with all of this; It would have made his new way easier, and less scary.


	8. A hiding place

**AN:**

**Thank you so much for your response, I am truly amazed by the interest in the story so far. I particularly enjoyed reading your questions. Hopefully you will be able to bear with me, as a lot of questions will be answered very soon. It's just slow at first, where both Sookie and Eric learn to adapt with changes and Eric's discoveries of what being a vampire means for him. This is in a world where vampire's aren't known to exist as yet, so obviously, as I imagine it would be, it's traumatic to go through something like that and not completely believe and understand what is happening to you.**

**Hopefully you won't mind sticking with me. :-) Answers will be revealed. Thanks to all, you're all so great! x**

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

"Sit," I mutter firmly, pointing to my bed.

He stares at me, not really understanding why.

"Just so that I can clean the blood off you," I clarify nervously. I'm hoping that blood is just from his tears and not any other poor victims he has come across during the beginning of the night. As if me saying that isn't explanation enough, I have to push him backwards a bit towards the edge of my bed. Finally getting it, he slowly sits, still staring up at me in an obviously perplexed way. Under the dome of light coming from my lamp, he really looks a mess. There's blood everywhere on his face; Especially around his eyes. "Oh, look at you," I say sadly, and then I start carefully with the wet cloth. "Put your head back and close your eyes," I tell him.

He hesitates, biting down on his lip nervously.

"Come on. I just want to get the blood off your eyes." How can he think I would ever possibly hurt him? It's ridiculous.

Finally, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back in surrender. There. Much better.

"Sorry," I whisper nervously, somehow finding the need to explain. "It isn't that I feel like you're like a child that I need to coddle and take care of. I guess I'm just used to being this way with you." I smile down at him tentatively. He is holding absolutely still as I drag the warm rag below his neck, down along the column of his throat, and over his collarbone. "A bit like before when you were hurt, and how I treated you and made sure you were safe and that you'd heal up okay."

Slowly, I slide the rag up and over his chin. I see his eyes clench tightly closed along with it and his lips part as he exhales shakily.

"Do you think I'm gonna hurt you? Is that why you're so nervous right now?"

"No, I know you wouldn't hurt me- not intentionally, anyway. It just feels funny."

"What does?"

"The warmth of the cloth against my skin." He groans deeply to illustrate that, sounding very appreciative. I can only begin to wonder what the contrast feels like against his cold-feeling skin. "I never noticed it, until now." He sighs loudly and slowly reopens his eyes to peer up at me. "I notice things differently now." I grip the side of his chin gently to angle his face to the side, and he lets me without protest. A few more swipes here and there, and he is looking fine and blood-free again. "Like just before, when you went into the other room... I noticed everything."

"What about it, though?"

"Although you were in the other room, I could hear you through the wall..." He licks his lips nervously, then without warning, he raises his hand to graze the back of his knuckles down the side of my throat. I try not to flinch, best as I am able to. "I could hear everything; The life that runs within you. Your heart beating. Thump, thump, thump. I hear everything now." Along with his words, his fangs ran out. I knew he couldn't help it, he had no control over when they did, and he looked just as scared as I felt over it happening. Exactly like his reaction to them before when we kissed, his eyes widen fearfully and he covers them up with the palm of his hand. "Sorry," he whispers truthfully. "I don't know why they keep doing that."

"Maybe we should watch Buffy for reference, huh?" I ask. Then I laugh despite myself.

"Buffy?" The way he says it tells me he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

"Yeah, you know? Buffy the Vampire Slayer? It's where I got that little invitation epiphany from."

"Oh, right." He smiles slightly, understanding. "I never used to watch it. I thought vampires were boring."

"And now, here you are, a vampire," I say, under my breath ominously. I laugh again nervously, although it seems somewhat inappropriate given the scary circumstances he is going through. I feel guilty for laughing, but then he smiles ruefully to show me he doesn't mind me cracking a joke or two. "Sorry," I say after a moment, making my voice intentionally brighter and matter-of-fact. "It just helps right now to see this in a funny light. I know there isn't anything funny about what you're going through, but I guess... it stops me from completely freaking out."

Eric exhales loudly at my words.

"How is it?" I ask, although I'm sort of terrified of knowing. "The hunger, I mean? The drive for blood? Do you feel it now? With... me?"

"I don't know. In some ways I do. But in others... it's different. With that woman, I found I couldn't even control myself. But with you... I guess maybe it's what happened, before. You were with me. I think I'm used to looking out for you. I would rather protect you, than hurt you."

"Well, that's very good to hear," I mutter lightly, pleased. "Otherwise I would be telling you right now to get out, if you so much as even start thinking of hurting me."

"I wouldn't." He sounds so confident. But he also sounds as if he is trying to convince himself of that.

"The police are confused about that murder with Evelyn," I tell him, thinking it over deeply. "They are thinking it's someone who prides themselves on acting like a vampire. It tells us that although no one really knows about it, vampire's exist and they haven't made themselves publicly known to the world."

"I wish I never even killed her." His voice is frightened. "But I lost myself completely."

I smile down at him sadly. It wasn't my intention to make him feel bad all over again by bringing it up. The expression on his face tugs at my heart. "I know you weren't quite yourself when you did it," I tell him. "I didn't mean to bring it up again, and have to make you feel scared. I just meant by it to point out that there's a whole lot more vampire's out there that the world doesn't know about yet. You're not the only one, and I guess, the person that bit you and made you like this... he was a vampire, as well. Maybe that was the point, all along?" I can't help shivering as I say it. "We were held in that room by a vampire. Maybe even two. Maybe that was their point, all along? To turn us into vampire's like them?"

"Or maybe..." he starts his own speculation, but then quickly stops.

"Maybe what?" I urge him.

He looks uncertain, and as though he is afraid of upsetting me. "Maybe they wanted me to be a vampire, and had you there because they knew I wouldn't be able to resist myself from attacking you?" He exhales sharply and shakes his head. Just the sound alone sounds very angry. "Maybe what they didn't count on was that I could never hurt you? They were just hoping the... lust for your blood would take over and that I would forget all about you."

Suddenly, it all sort of makes sense, putting it in that way. In all the times we have wondered why we were chosen, not once did we wonder if this was why- for obvious reasons. And what if Eric was right? What if those people did have intentions all along of infecting him, and then since I was the only person trapped in the room with him, they hoped he would kill me first chance he got? It's horrifying to think of myself as little more than food to someone else.

"You're probably right," I whisper, my voice uneven. "But I need you to do something for me, although it feels terrible to ask you..."

"What?" He's all ears.

"I need you to try to control yourself, as much as you possibly can. Just... try not to give into instinct and kill anymore people, all right?"

"But I'm not like you now," he points out, "I can't eat food. What will I do, then?"

"I don't know. But you've got to try anything."

"Thank you," he breathes, "for... understanding me. For helping me."

"Don't bother with thanking me. Think of all the times you've done it for me off your own back."

"No, I'm serious... Thank you for making me not have to go through this alone."

Smiling gently, I lean down and wrap my arms around him, leaning my chin against his head. After a moment of reluctance, his arms wind around me. He presses his forehead into my side, and he seems relaxed. A few moments pass, just like this, before an idea hits me.

"You're afraid of the sunlight, right?" I ask, pulling away.

He watches me carefully. "Yes."

"Well, I've only just cleaned out my closet. I know it wouldn't be all that comfortable, but you could always... maybe stay in there? I'm sure it would be better than having to sleep in dirt, right? And I could keep my curtains always drawn to block out the sun, 'till it's dark?" I smile encouragingly at him as I cross over to my closet. I pull it open, and step aside, hoping to make it look inviting. It's a crazy idea, but it just might work. And he needs all the help he can get right now.


End file.
